


Day's End

by Sidonie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidonie/pseuds/Sidonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loras has his own ideas about who should rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day's End

**Author's Note:**

> Set right at the end of the series (probably sometime during 1.09, "Baelor"). One slight book spoiler, but doesn't reveal any of the major events of _A Clash of Kings_.
> 
> This fandom deserves so much more fic than it has (note: GRRM has said that HBO gets to decide whether to adopt his no-fic policy for the show, and as they have stayed silent on the matter, I take it as tacit agreement and will write fic, but only in the series!verse). Renly and Loras are pretty much my OTP and I haven't seen any fic for them that's not massively spoilery, so here is this! It's mostly happy fluffy politics with a tinge of angst around the edges.

“War?” The word fell on still air, muffled by the tapestries hanging from the walls. “You want _me_ to fight a war?”

The answer was a light, musical laugh, too young and carefree for the subject at hand. “No.” Loras stepped closer, pale eyes intent. “I want you to _win_ a war.”

Renly cast his eyes down, avoiding the look he knew held entirely too much sway in his decision-making. “It's different now,” he mumbled. “Before Joffrey was named king, maybe, but now . . . if anyone has a claim, it's Stannis.”

“We've been over this.” Loras' voice was all impatience and vitriol, but his touch on Renly's shoulder was gentle. “Stannis can lead his army through seven hells and back, but put him on the Iron Throne and the man will be a disaster.” He caught Renly lightly under the chin and tipped his face up to meet his gaze. “He doesn't have your charm. Or your political abilities. You've served on the Small Council for how many years? And in that time, Stannis has done nothing but sit on that miserable rock he rules and brood.” Brushing a whisper-soft kiss against Renly's lips, the young knight favored his lover with a wicked smile. “Be my king, Renly Baratheon.”

Carding a hand absently through Loras' long brown hair, Renly stared into the distance, biting lightly at his lower lip. When he returned his attention to his lover, his look was speculative.

“You have never seen war.”

“Neither have you,” Loras shot back, grinning.

“I'd need armies. Who would dare support me?”

Loras had his answer ready. “The bannermen of Storm's End. To them Joffrey is a child and Stannis a distant possibility. They know you. They _love_ you.” He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together as his playful tenor voice roughened with excitement. “And you would have Highgarden and all its wealth. My father likes you well enough.”

“Liking is not a basis for a political alliance,” Renly reminded him. “We'd need something stronger, a guarantee.”

A heavy silence fell as Loras cast about for an answer. When he met Renly's eyes again his mouth was drawn in a tight, determined line and his cheeks pale. He took a deep breath.

“Marry Margaery, then.” His nostrils flared as resolve hardened the planes of his face. “She—she'll understand. Father's been meaning to make a match for her for some time, and he can't well turn down a Baratheon, can he?”

Renly regarded his lover for a moment, feeling slightly ill despite the inevitability of this development. “No, he can't,” he murmured.

Loras closed his eyes and drew in another deep breath, calming the quick temper Renly knew simmered behind his beautiful smiles. “You will have Storm's End, Highgarden, and all their bannermen,” he said, soft and slow, tasting the words as they rolled over his tongue. “You will have the strength of the south, and the lesser lords will surely add their forces to yours as you march. You will—you will have a Tyrell queen at your side. I will lead your vanguard, and warriors will rally behind the Knight of Flowers.” His eyes snapped open. “You will have everything you need to win this war and more. Say it.”

“Say what?” Renly asked, but the smile touching the corner of his mouth betrayed him, and Loras only laughed. “If you insist.” He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat, feeling oddly self-conscious despite the emptiness of the room.

“I, Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by birthright and in the sight of gods and men, claim the Iron Throne of Westeros for mine own seat.”

Quick as thought Loras went to one knee, bowing his head as he stared up at Renly through his eyelashes. “And I, Ser Loras Tyrell, pledge my sword, my heart, and my life unto the service of His Grace Renly Baratheon, first of his name, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Looking down at him, Renly traced gentle fingers over the young knight's lips, marveling at the way the evening light gilded them. The shadows grew long as the last of the sunshine poured in the small window set high in the wall, softening the edges of the room and painting everything in shades of gold and black.

“I accept your fealty,” he whispered. “Now rise with my blessing.”

Loras quirked his mouth in a teasing smile, easy and radiant in the fading light. “I'd rather not.”


End file.
